Day One
by sweetdreams-sunnymornings
Summary: First day on the job at Rangeman. You got the job, now can you survive that crucial first day? Various Merry Men and other characters tell us their stories.
1. Chapter 1 Cal

**Day One - On The Job**

**.**

**a/n This is a group of oneshots **that tell the stories of various Merry Men and other characters' first days on the job at Rangeman. They are in no particular order, I may add to them at a future date, so if you have a special MM you'd like to read about, pls let me know. Most fit into my Mercenary Ranger world but some discrepancies may occur. Babe fic, but not a romance. I'll try to post every Friday or saturday...enjoy!

Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.

Thanks go to Harmne for the idea behind this series!

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><p><strong>The New Guy-Cal's story<strong>

**.**

_This takes place after Ranger has returned from a job; the op was a success but some things went FUBAR and one of his men is badly injured. From JE's books we know Ranger takes that very seriously, so he is overtired and stressed. This is what happens…._

_new guy POV_

**First of all, this is not **about my tattoo. And secondly, it's just my freakin' luck, my first day on the job at Rangeman Trenton and I am guarding some guy in a hospital bed. Someone apparently very important because the home office was in an uproar and the staff seemed to be terrified of somehow _not _getting the job done. My name is Calvin Jenner and I am a 38 year old ex-Green Beret, formerly part of the RMPMC group stationed in the Middle East. I recently returned stateside after a two year tour. I've had enough of the sandpit for awhile but Rangeman pays great and I had been assured that I'd like the work here as much as I'd—well, _liked_ is the wrong word—but I was good at my job on the battlefield and I was confident I'd do just as well here in Trenton.

This morning I reported for duty at oh five hundred. Tank issued me weapons and permits, some other man named Hal gave me a stack of black uniforms, and a little gay Hispanic guy loaded me with phone and comm unit and then they shoved me in a big black Yukon with five other men and here I was.

Now, six hours later I watched an unidentified female medical person, I was guessing a doctor, finish her conversation with my new boss and walk away . As ordered I turned my attention to my employer, Ranger Manoso. He had been sitting on the floor outside the ICU cubicle but had risen to speak to this woman. I vaguely remembered meeting Manoso when I was first hired 2 1/2 years ago. Now, thinking back, I mostly recalled a handsome young man wearing an expensive suit who had silently observed my final interview. After I was hired and retrained, deemed up to Rangeman standards, I had been sent to Iraq under the command of Bobby Brown. Brown was a fine boss, both a medic and a former Special Forces operator and I respected him highly. So my loyalty, my allegiance, was to Brown, not particularly to Manoso.

Earlier in the day Tank, Rangeman's hulking second in command, had pointed out a rest area with crummy couches and said he hoped Ranger would grab some rest soon.

And now, as Ranger too watched the doctor leave, I saw only a very young, very exhausted man who closed his eyes and began slowly sliding down the wall again. I estimated that Ranger Manoso was ten years younger, two inches shorter and forty pounds lighter than me and so I did not hesitate. I went quickly to Ranger's side, planning to say, _Mr. Tank said that I should show you the rest area, sir._

I wrapped a hand around Ranger's left bicep and got out, "Sir, M…"

And in a blur of pain and motion I found myself thrown hard to the corridor floor, a foot on my throat, a gun in my face. Stunned I momentarily had no idea what had happened. I gasped for breath and fought down the pain in my ass and shoulders. My vision slowly cleared and I looked up to see Ranger watching me dead-eyed, his gun a black hole just like his eyes. I blearily wondered if he would actually kill me. And why.

The US Rangeman employee called Zero stepped between us, his back to Ranger blocking him a fraction. Ranger straightened up but said, did, nothing.

Zero said, "Rule number 2—never touch the boss without his permission."

I tried to catch my breath and felt Ranger's boot press harder on my throat.

Zero said, "Sir? Ranger?" And the boot let up a little. They both stared down at me then Zero made a _go ahead_ circle with his finger.

I choked out, "What's Rule Number 1?"

Zero said, "Be afraid. Be very very afraid."

Ranger took his foot away and stepped back a little. Zero hauled me to my feet, clapped me on the shoulder briskly and said, "Show the boss that couch, man. "

Ranger's gun disappeared. He made a tiny motion with his chin that apparently Zero saw as assent. Zero said, "Good man, Jenner." Then "Sir." And he went back to his post by the ICU door.

I managed to say, "It's this way, um, sir. Just down this hall."

Manoso followed me in silence, while I silently thanked God that I hadn't pissed myself.

We stopped at the nook with two old fake leather sofas. Someone had set out some blankets and pillows already.

Ranger politely said, "Thank you."

"Sir."

"Ah—Jenner, is it?"

"Yessir."

"Don't let Zero scare you."

"No sir."

"I hardly ever kill anyone."

"No sir."

"Unless I get paid. A lot. In advance."

"Yessir, I mean no sir."

…..

**Jenner beat a fast retreat under Ranger's** bemused stare. Ranger thought, _What was that all about._ And fell instantly asleep, horizontal for the first time in maybe a week.

Later over coffee, Zero said, "What the hell were you thinking, Jenner? Ranger Manoso could snap your scrawny neck without even waking up."

"He just looked so tired, I don't know—I felt sorry for him. He's just a kid."

"Geez. That's like feeling sorry for a rabid pit bull or a rattlesnake, you fool. And Ranger is no kid, trust me."

"Yeah…"

"Rumor has it that he's one of the finest covert assassins in the world, " Zero said softly.

"I thought Manoso was just some ex-Army business guy."

"You need to get out more, man."

I repressed a shiver and kept my mouth shut. Iraq was looking very inviting all of a sudden.

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><p><em><strong>The end of the story, next MM up to the plate soon.<strong>_

_**a/nThe un-named injured man is Anthony, as a matter of fact; the timeline fits in right before the beinning of Take a Chance.**_

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><p><em><strong>Pls leave a comment? Bookmarks etc are nice, but reviews are like gold to an author, so pls take a second? Even just say Hi, whatever...<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2 Binky

**Day One on the Job**

**.**

A/N- Binky arrives in LMT. Earlier in 13, Tank tells Stephanie that if she escapes her Rangeman bodyguards while Ranger is out of town, Ranger said he'd fire everyone! And of course she sneaks out and gets hurt in the exploding warehouse. Ranger returns and is furious—why? Nothing is ever mentioned, but DID he fire everyone who f&%ked up on "Steph Duty"?

And then, a new man appears...the premise is a little trite [but taken from JE, not my fault! lol] but here is Binky's First Day.

**Chapter Two ~ Another New Guy - **_**Binky's Story **_

**"Okay, men, we have a lot going on and due to some—**ah—issues, we're really short-handed so a few of you will be riding alone for a week or so…."

The big black man named Tank looked at his laptop screen and read off the day's assignments. "…and Binky is assigned to Ms Plum," he finished up. That's me—Eric Binkman, better known as Binky. Today was my first day on the job at Rangeman Security. I had arrived promptly at 0700 and had dressed in my new black uniform, strapped on my Rangeman issued handgun and had presented myself for my first assignment. In the locker room the guys were casually friendly and in a business where men went by names like Tank and Snake, Slick and Zero—where even the boss was addressed by a street name, my stupid name Binky had not been questioned or even noticed.

Now I nodded to Tank to show I understood my job and he looked at me sadly then added, "I'll brief you in a minute. Everyone else, get to work."

A chorus of _yessirs_ and most of the men left the room. Tank stepped aside to speak to the handsome Latino man called Lester Santos who I understood was also a boss of sorts. The other man who stayed behind was a big, overly muscular young guy with a blond crewcut not unlike mine. He offered his hand and said, "My name is Hal. Good luck with Ms Plum."

"Why? What?"

"She's the boss's girlfriend and she's a handful…be careful. The first time I met her she got me flatfooted with my own stun gun."

Behind us Tank boomed, "And you haven't lived it down yet, have you, my man?"

Hal said, "I gotta go," and disappeared.

Tank sat on the edge of the conference table and looked me over. "Ok, Binky. I know you're ex-Spec Ops and despite your ridiculous nickname, you think you're a badass. But Ms Plum is—well, difficult."

"I have to take her to the mall?"

"No, probably you'll have to tail her while she hunts for skips. She's a bounty hunter."

"The boss's girlfriend is a bounty hunter?" I gasped, visions of that woman on _Dog the Bounty Hunter _running through my brain. No offense to Mrs. Dog, but I just couldn't picture Ranger Manoso with a woman like that. If I had to conjecture—and I was pretty sure I should NOT—I pictured Ranger with exquisitely tall, slim, large breasted blondes of the fashion model or actress variety.

''Ms Plum is not his girlfriend—" Tank rolled his eyes and added, "—exactly. But she is very important to him, to all of us. And the woman she'll be riding with is _my _girlfriend, so you better be doubly careful that nothing goes wrong."

"What could go wrong?'' I asked.

"Nothing, Binky, nothing."

Tank then handed me a file folder and said, "Ms Plum is at a meeting with TPD right now. The boss is with her. So take the file, grab a bite to eat. You can pick up the surveillance later, it may be a long day." _Little did I know…._

I took the file, opened it to a full page head shot of a young, pretty white woman with big blue eyes and a stunning smile. I looked back up at Tank. "This isn't exactly what I signed on to do."

"Maybe not but it's the most dangerous job you'll ever do for Rangeman."

"Dangerous? How?"

Tank stared at me for a few beats. "If you fuck this up, Ranger will kill you. Now get to work."

…

**Around ten hundred** hours Lester Santos stuck his head into the break room where I was drinking coffee and memorizing this woman's stats and addresses. Santos said, "You can pick up the tail on Steph now."

I nodded and got up. "Yessir."

He said, "She's driving a black Porsche Cayenne S Turbo—that's the SUV. NJ license X1234X."

_Wow._ "Bounty hunting must pay her well," I said, impressed.

"She is driving _Ranger's_ Cayenne."

"Oh."

Ten minutes later I was all set up in what appeared to be a brand new, immaculately shiny black Ford Explorer XL with tinted windows, leather seats, integrated Bluetooth phone, GPS, and custom wheels that had to set Ranger back a few grand. This was luxury, not like any company car I'd ever imagined. I picked up Ms Plum and the big bucks black Cayenne as she left a mustard and brown row house in the neighborhood known as the Burg. I recognized the address as that of her parents. Another woman rode in the passenger seat but the dark window tint kept me for seeing Tank's girlfriend.

I followed Ms Plum discreetly without making contact, wondering idly at the extravagance of providing your girlfriend with a Porsche SUV that retails at about $150,000 and desperately curious to catch a glimpse of the woman they all called the Bombshell or Bomber. I trailed her to North Trenton; she parked in front of a nondescript bungalow and got out of the car. From her Rangeman file, I knew that this was the home of one of Ms Plum's current FTAs.

Ms Plum was—well, no blond bombshell—but very pretty in a girl next door kind of way. She was fairly tall with a mop of glossy dark curls. She filled out her black Rangeman cargoes _very_ nicely and I couldn't help noticing her little black t-shirt was short, tight, v-necked and, like her pants, was chosen by _someone _to show off her, um, assets. She swung her purse up onto her shoulder and somehow she must have sensed my scrutiny, because she turned and looked over at me, smiled and did this cute little finger wave. And my heart lurched just a little, this girl had—something special.

And she was _hot_.

The other car door opened and a little scrawny old woman with orange hair, dressed in a purple tracksuit, got out of the other side. If this was Tank's woman, I felt really bad for the big guy. Stephanie and the little old lady disappeared inside the house.

….

_**Long day was putting**__ it mildly, _I thought at about 8 PM. I helped rescue Tank who got shot; I saw Tank's real girlfriend, a flamboyant lady who was dressed up like a hooker. I met my boss Ranger up close and personal in the hospital waiting room. His focus was all on Tank and his orders to me were cursory. "Guard Steph." He never asked about his Cayenne which we had abandoned in Ms Plum's parking lot, probably unlocked and maybe with the engine still running. We later proceeded on to the Bonds office, her parents' home, back to Rangeman. I figured I was done for the day, but the night guy, Ram, said no, she was still on the job. Fourteen hours after I started my first day at Rangeman, I followed Stephanie Plum and Tank's Lula to a rainswept, windy, and need I say?—very dark and silent cemetery.

We parked at the locked gates and Stephanie got out. She came over to me, leaned in my window and explained, "I have a skip who is a grave robber. I am hoping to find him here tonight."

She wanted me to follow her in _there_?

Something must have showed on my face because she added kindly, "You can wait here in the car."

I said, "No I can't. Ranger will kill me if anything happens to you."

Ms Plum rolled her eyes and set off with Ms Lula. Twenty awful minutes later we were wet and lost and Lula was trapped at the bottom of a muddy newly dug grave. Ms Plum smiled at me, whipped out her cell phone and—Oh shit!—she called the boss.

Yes, I had the humiliating first day on the job experience of having to be rescued in a graveyard by my formidable employer. As Ms Plum spoke to Lula, saying goodnight, Ranger looked at me. I stood straight and tried to meet his eyes, praying that the pouring rain hid my embarrassed flush. I had been warned that Manoso was tough, demanding and scary, but I held my ground. Ranger however appeared relaxed and amused and maybe a little tired but not angry. He nodded to me and said, "Good job, Binkman."

"I got lost tonight, sir, I apologize."

"You got lost but you didn't lose Stephanie. That's all that matters. Go on, go home, man. "

Dismissed by a small jerk of Ranger's chin I turned towards my car. As I beeped it open I glanced back at Ranger and Ms Plum where they stood together in the rain. Her back was to me, her head tilted up to Ranger, hands on her hips, hair in Medusa snakes all down her back. He was looking down at her—and admiring her wet t-shirt maybe, because his eyes flashed from her amazing hair to her body then back to her face. Both ignored the rain dripping down their faces, simulating tears. She shook her head and water drops flew, Manoso smiled wide, his teeth flashing white in his dark serious face and he hugged her. In that moment I understood everything about this day—this is the woman Ranger loves.

My first day was over. I had survived.

**the end, series tbc**

…

**Thank you** for reviewing!


	3. Chapter 3 Hector

**Day One on the Job**

**.**

**A/N- Possibly OFFENSIVE issues are discussed!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three ~ Hector's Story<strong>

**.**

_Hector_

**I walked out of juvenile court** with the social worker hard on my heels. I hid my fear with a badass glower and searched for the man who had just stepped up in court and told the judge that he would personally guarantee my good behavior.

The judge had considered then he asked me if I would be willing to live under the tutelage of that man. A court appointed interpreter translated and explained the big words to me. I folded my arms and scowled, thinking hard—I had killed a man—more than one man—back home in my country. I was protecting _mi madre_ and the other time _mi hermanita_, my little sister. I proudly wore my teardrop tattoo and dared anyone to fuck with me.

But this time, if I was not deported, I was in line to go to prison—maybe even adult prison. I had been caught on a Federal felony charge, hacking into banks, trying to electronically steal the money I needed to bring my family to America. But I made some mistakes and got caught and now a Federal prison somewhere far away was a real possibility for me. And prison was no place for a slightly built fifteen year old boy who was an illegal immigrant from El Salvador. Especially one who was pretty sure he was gay.

I had nodded, then when pressed I had said, _Si._ The judge banged his hammer and my fate was sealed.

Now on the courthouse steps I looked for the man who had manipulated the judge, who was supposedly my savior. He leaned against a black sports car that my teenage eyes recognized as a Porsche 911Turbo. I approached slowly and the man impatiently straightened up. I stood in front of him and said nothing, fear had gripped my throat. _Had this big strong Cubaño chosen me as his latest playmate?_ I wondered and trembled inside. My newly recognized homosexuality was a wonder to me, but I was untouched, totally inexperienced, even with boys my own age. This big beautiful man could snap me like a twig, he would hurt me, he would tear me apart.

Overwhelmed with terror I forced myself to stand there and stare through him. The man said in fluent Spanish, "What's with the attitude, kid?" His Spanish had a tinge of upper class Havana and it sounded odd to my Central American slum raised ears.

I shrugged.

He said, "Do you know who I am?"

I nodded, my mouth too dry to let me speak.

He said, "I won't put up with bullshit from you, little Hector. You will follow my orders and you will learn to show respect for me and my men."

_Men? Plural_?

I felt my lips tremble and did not dare to answer.

"Well?"

I made myself nod again, still wordless.

"Look at me, little man."

Suddenly pissed off at the taunting name, I focused my eyes truly onto his, forcing myself to be a badass, to be strong. To remember that I was a gangsta, a killer of men. Our eyes locked and I swear he was looking deep into my worthless soul. The silence grew and the man seemed surprised or puzzled. One black eyebrow raised and he turned away and pulled open the car door. "Get in."

I hesitated, the fear gripping me again. _What would happen with this man? What would he do to me in the secrecy of his bed? Will he hurt me, will he shame me? _My admiration for his beauty could not overcome my urge to cringe or run and hide

He said again, "Get in. Now." I got in.

The man known on the worst streets of Trenton as Ranger put the key in the ignition and started the car. The high performance engine rumbled but he sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Or reading mine.

He said quietly, "I won't hurt you, Hector. I don't generally indulge in sex with men and if I did I still would not molest a boy of your age. I need an electronics expert. Someone I can trust. I am willing to take a chance on you. I am asking you again, no judge is listening now—do you want a second chance?"

"I—my mother, my sisters…"

"I will see to your education and that of your sisters, your mother will want for nothing. I promise they will be protected."

"They are still in El Salvador, senor."

"No problem."

I gaped at him.

He went on, "After you finish high school—and college or tech school, whatever you wish—you will earn a salary with my company that will allow you and your people to live in luxury. You can live at my place for now, until we get your mother settled here in the US. Then you can decide—maybe a combination of places. All you have to do is stay out of top secret websites, keep you nose clean and learn treat me and my crew—and yourself—with respect."

I nodded, slowly.

"We'll figure it out, Hector. Okay?"

I nodded again, still horribly afraid.

"Yeah? So—what else?"

"I am illegal, I don't have a green card."

"You do now, my man."

Ranger Manoso took me to his home. He introduced me to his housekeeper Ella Guzman, who fed me and gave me clean clothes and a nice room in her apartment. She and her husband Louis became like parents to me and I loved them dearly. My own family came to America and were free and safe and happy at last. When I turned twenty-one Ranger told me I was "free" .

"I have always been free here, jefe."

"Yes, but now you have an education and American citizenship, you can go where you please, live the life you please. You're not required or obligated to stay with me. Or Rangeman."

I said, "You are my brother, my father—please—I want to stay."

Ranger nodded a little. He is not a demonatrative man.

And so I stayed.

I've been with Rangeman for a long time, more years than almost anyone except Tank and Bobby and Lester. Over the years Ranger taught me self respect and courage and honesty; he gave me his trust and I learned to trust him in return. He taught me everything—mostly by example. He taught me how to be a man.

**the end**


	4. Chapter 4 Ranger and Tank

**Day One **

**.**

a/n1-Thank you for all the reviews! Reviews are gold, love them!

BTW, while I am happy to consider any MM etc and their first days, I can't write what can't have happened, like Lester's First Day: Guarding Stephanie. Lester's first day was long before Steph showed up. And I also wouldn't likely write another ff writer's scenario...it's JE or my Plum world or both. Anything more and my head will explode from the confusion!

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><p><strong>AN 2 **-This is set in the original office that Ranger takes Stephanie to during, I think, Three to Whatever, the one where Uncle Mo steals Ranger's limited production BMW. He has not yet acquired the Haywood St building. This is a **Merecneary Ranger** version, not JE.

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><p><strong>Ranger's First Day (Tank's too!) <strong>

**.**

**I let myself into the small two room office** in Trenton. I flipped the lights on and stood there, examining the space where I was supposed to begin my new life as Ranger Manoso, bounty hunter, bodyguard, enforcer and all 'round badass. I was dressed all in black. I was armed and dangerous. I was laughing my ass off, thinking, _poseur!_

I looked around. The space was okay, immaculately clean, including the windows; newly painted white walls, oatmeal Berber carpet. Simple modern desk, mini-blinds, phone set up with answering machine, desktop computer, printer/scanner/ fax combo. Couple of chairs and some file cabinets. I walked across the new carpet and opened the door to the bathroom. It was all white and very clean. Soap, toilet paper, Kleenex.

Okay, so far everything was as I had ordered. The space was small, yes, but in a good location and there was a secure parking facility nearby for my cars. I sat down behind the desk and turned on the PC; a security picture came up immediately—the hallway outside. I clicked the mouse and the screen divided into multiple views—hall the other way; stairwells; elevator; entrance; car lot.

I clicked the menu for my email, choosing the server that conveyed encrypted files from, well, whoever wanted to email me that way. Without much interest, I randomly opened a missive from the NSA—blah blah blah. My reading was disturbed by a loud knock on the door which then immediately opened. Cursing myself for not being more aware, I leveled my new Glock at the large black man who stepped in, grinning.

"What are you doing here?" This man, and two others, Lester Santos and Bobby Brown were supposed to join up with me in a few weeks if all went well with my initial insertion here.

The man we all called Tank said, "I'm here to watch your back, boy."

"I don't need you to watch my back," I lied.

Tank has been watching my back since we met in first grade and he was very, very good at it.

"Sure you do, man, how can you be a badass on the mean streets of—tah dah! Trenton NJ all by yourself? With no backup? No crew? Who's gonna take you serious? No, uh-uh, you need me to give you credibility. You need a rep and my presence can only help."

I stared at him.

"Not to mention you was all lost off in lah lah land just now, I coulda walked in and capped yo' ass."

"Capped yo' ass?" I echoed.

Tank was supposedly from Louisiana and while sometimes some bayou drawl crept into his speech, he was born and raised in suburban New York, he's a West Point graduate and a career Army officer. He did not talk street.

But he could. And now so could I—in a half dozen languages, no less. But especially in Jersey.

I stood up and said, "Let's get on with it then."

…

**On the drive across town** Tank said, "I got a call from your grandfather, Ranger."

"My grandfather?" My grandfather Manoso was retired and lived in Palm Beach where he still played polo and escorted my _abuela_ to charity balls between rounds of golf.

"Your _materna_l grandfather." I was silent, sorting that out, and Tank added irritably, "Your _mother's_ father, your other grandfather? You know what I'm sayin' here?"

I nodded. "What did he want?"

"He offered to triple my salary if I agreed to be your watchdog."

"And report back to him?"

"Didn't seem that way, he just wanted you guarded."

"And."

"And I say I ain't for sale, homey." Tank turned in his seat to study my face. I gave him nothing, not wanting to hurt his feelings by laughing at his version of ghetto speak. "But you know since he is of a—ah—" Tank made the bent nose, universal "mobbed up" gesture—"a connected persuasion and he _is_ yo' granddaddy, I told him I was gonna watch yo' ass anyway. No need for him to worry. Or pay extra, like."

_Geez_. "And."

"And he said _, Grazie, Piero_ and hung up."

I decided I'd think about that later because we had reached our first stop of the day.

…..

**We parked the new black Bronco** in front of a Bail Bonds Agency near the courts and jail. My plan was to begin my new career right here. I turned the car off and said to Tank, "Let's do this, " and ignoring his smirk, I strode into the tiny storefront space. There was a woman behind a battered desk who was painting her nails and talking on the phone. She made a _wait_ gesture, then in a moment looked up and saw us. Saw me, I guess. Her eyes got big and her shiny red lips fell open. She looked me over and licked her lips. I introduced myself and asked to see the boss.

The woman said to me, "Hi, handsome. I'm Connie." Then she turned to the closed door to our left and screamed, "Hey Vinnie, we got company! Put it back in your pants and get your slimy ass out here."

After a few minutes the door opened and a slim, weaselly guy poked his head out. "Whaddya want? I'm busy! You KNOW I'm busy, it's a Monday! I have things to catch up on!" Then he saw me and _his _eyes got wide too. And he gave me the once-over too and licked _his_ lips.

Do badass dudes say _eeeew?_

Anyway, I was frozen, the woman was bad enough but this guy—he had me stripped naked in two seconds if only in his own twisted mind. I was guessing he was an equal opportunity pervert and he was liking what he saw. I'm about six feet, 190, most of it muscles. I'm 30 years old and third generation Cuban American on my father's side which means I have dark skin, dark eyes, and right now I have very long, dark, almost black straight hair. My genetic hodgepodge has resulted in looks that are seen by many—even guy pervs—as very attractive—in a sexual way, I guess you could say. I usually try to counteract my unfortunate appearance by looking deadpan with a major dose of mean. But Vincent Plum seemed too enthralled to be sensibly wary. I sighed to myself and debated drawing my gun.

The silence dragged, underscored by the man's heavy breathing.

Vincent Plum squirmed a little under my gaze, surreptitiously tried to adjust his pants.

Eeew.

Finally Tank stepped up and growled, "You got a problem, mister?"

It should have been me saying it but I was still in denial. The greasy little man said, "What can I do you for, boys?" And motioned us into his private sanctum. He scurried behind the desk, no doubt to shut down the online porn we could hear coming from the computer's speakers.

"Have a seat."

"I'll stand."

No way was I sitting in that chair. Or shaking his hand. I introduced myself, told my story—ex-Army, looking for work, heard bounty hunting was easy and paid well.

Vincent Plum pulled out a file and tossed it to me. "Domestic violence that went south. After he was bonded out—yeah, by me, I'm a softie—this skel went home and stabbed his wife with her favorite Rachel Ray chefs' knife. I have one more day to bring this guy in or I forfeit the bond. You find him, your cut is ten grand."

I said, "Fine."

… … ….

**Back at the office I logged** into one of my possibly illegal but oh so useful FBI search programs. I had the guy's new cell phone number in 2 minutes and activated a position find using the GPS chip in the phone. Couple minutes after that, Tank and I were on the road and an hour later we had the guy cuffed and bleeding on the floor of a busy crack house on Stark Street. Tank held the other occupants at bay with a sawed off shotgun while I manhandled our FTA, also known as a skip, into the Bronco. Tank attached the shackles and I read the scumbag his "rights"—he could see a judge and be rebonded and so on. Yeah, right, like the judge is gonna put this guy back out on the streets. I don't think so. His head lolled and I smacked his cheek. "Are you with me, asshole?'' I yelled.

"Duh….."

I reached for my handgun, but Tank grabbed my arm. "You're supposed to detain them, Ranger. You're not supposed to kill them."

The skip focused and started to scream. I said, "Fuck that."

And we drove off, one terrified bad guy in the backseat. Tank and I grinned. My reputation was being made.

…..

**At the police station,** I showed my credentials and the paperwork from Vinnie Plum. While the desk sergeant read it over, a plainclothes cop walked over and said, "Hey, we're really glad this one is back in custody." He looked me over, less lewdly than the bonds office folks. He said, "I'm Joe Morelli. I'm a detective in Vice, do some homicides now and then. Welcome to Trenton." I nodded.

"I didn't catch your name?"

"My street name is Ranger."

"And?"

"Carlos Manoso," I admitted.

We shook hands.

"You keep working for Vinnie and bringing in his FTAs, we'll be seeing a lot of each other, I guess, " said Detective Morelli.

_More than we could begin to imagine_, I realized years later when a beautiful woman with dark curly hair and an attitude came into both our lives.

And changed everything.

**the end**


	5. Chapter 5 Ram

**Day One**

**.**

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><p><strong>AN This story starts during _11 on Top_ and flashes back to _High 5_, the scene where the Porsche explodes and then is crushed by the garbage truck.**

a/n: I've always disliked stories where Ranger punishes his men by beating them up "on the mats". This is just a fan fic sicko fantasy and I always wonder who the heck thought this nonsense up? It just seems so unlikely to me: why would Ranger, a good businessman, open himself to lawsuits and criminal prosecution for assault? What employer would do such a thing? Why would the men accept it? Wouldn't you just quit? Ranger is too shrewd to injure his men so that they cannot perform their duties...and I doubt his health care provider or govt. disability would pay for treament of injuries he inflicted. Not to mention, assaulting your employees is just very illegal...

**However**, I can see him acceptibly testing his men's capabilities, and so...

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><p><strong>Chapter five ~ Ram's First Day<strong>

**.**

_Ram_

**I stepped into the stairwell** to check out a muffled crash and a scream. I looked down and on the landing I saw Stephanie Plum plastered spread eagle on top of the boss. He had his hands on her ass and I could see him smiling. I said _excuse me_ and did a fast retreat. Do I want to know how they got into that position? Or why? Or why _there_, I should say, because Ranger has a perfectly nice couch in his office and presumably a bed in his apartment upstairs.

I decided I didn't want to know _anything _and went back to the comm monitor bank.

I've worked for Rangeman for three years and I've never seen the inside of the boss's apartment. But, yeah—three years. I'll never forget my first day on the job here. I was an ex-Green Beret who had wrecked his glorious military career by getting shot up on the job. The Army gave me a Purple Heart and some other medals and a medical discharge—honorable of course. And then shoved me out the door. I got home to Jersey and thought, _Now what? My fuckin' life is over. _

Lucky for me the VA sent me to a shrink for evaluation and he said he knew a man who probably could use a guy like me when—Dr. Connor held up a warning hand—I was fully recovered from my injury and depression and had learned to control my rage. To show the doc I could do that, I didn't pull out my gun and shoot his sanctimonious ass. I never used to be an angry man—I was just pissed that the army gave me such short shrift and that my life plan lay in shreds at my feet, so to speak.

**Three months later I was at Rangeman**, oh seven hundred, first day on the job. I met with Tank and a wispy Hispanic guy, got a new gun, a phone, a pager, a stungun. Was handed a stack of neatly pressed black uniforms. The little guy—Hector—looked me over and said my cornrowed hair was okay—_muy lindo_—but to lose the beads, _too noisy._ I nodded.

Then I got a brief tour: gym, gun range, garage, holding cells. Mention was made of 4th floor apartments if I decided I'd like to live on-site. We ended up back at the 5th floor comm room. Tank said, "We usually start new guys on the monitors for a week or so. That way you get to know everyone and get a feel for the place. Gives us time to evaluate your skills and fitness levels."

I knew better than to bristle but I felt I was as strong as I had ever been and the casual words made me angry all over again. Oblivious, Tank went on, "There's the break room. This is the electronics storage—Hector is usually around if you need anything. Silvio over here, he's our computer guy. And down here is the boss's office, let me introduce you."

Tank knocked on the open door and we went in. A young man with very long hair was seated at the big modern steel and glass desk, talking on a Bluetooth headset and typing on his computer keyboard. He was not speaking English and it took me a moment realize he was speaking Pashto, a dialect of Afghanistan and that I understood the words. The man's eyes tracked to us and he wrapped up his call. He stood while Tank said, "Ranger, this is Ramsey Washington, he's the new hire. Ramsey, this is Carlos Manoso."

Manoso extended his hand and we shook without crushing each other's bones. I said, "Ram. They call me Ram." My new boss raised an eyebrow and said, "Ranger. They call me Ranger."

"Yessir."

"No. _Ranger_."

"Yessir," —both eyebrows up—"Ranger, sir."

I understood I was supposed to call this man _Ranger_, but despite his youth and pretty face he was immensely intimidating and the _officer on deck_ vibe rolled off him effortlessly.

I figured Ranger Manoso was about my height and weight and maybe as much as ten years younger than me. His Latino coloring was lighter than my own Jamaican-Irish mix, but he had very dark eyes, where my eyes are light green. He wore black cargoes and t-shirt like everyone else, though I noticed his t-shirt did not have a company logo and looked expensive. His big shoulders and biceps strained the fine cotton and he was going about his daily office work casually wearing a black shoulder holster and 9mm Glock. And diamond earrings.

Manoso said, "Have a seat."

I sat. Tank went to sit too but Manoso said, "You don't have to stay, I'll call you when we're done here."

"But…"

Manoso cut his eyes at the big man who turned and left.

Then he leafed through what I assumed was my employment application and file.

"Okay, Ram. Your medical file says you're fit for duty despite what the army told you. And your military file says you were—or are—one hell of a hand-to-hand fighter."

"Yessir."

"And."

I said, "I'm not sure what you are asking, sir."

Manoso said, "You'll spend a week or so in-office, training, working out, doing the monitor thing. But when I put you on the street your hand-to-hand skills will be necessary tools. You'll need to subdue targets and you'll need to defend yourself. My question is—are you up to it?"

"Bring 'em on, sir. I can take out anybody you put me up against, just give me a chance."

Manoso said, "Tank."

Tank appeared instantly. He hadn't gone far.

"Gym in 10 minutes. Show Ram the locker room."

"Ranger…." Tank kept a properly blank face but somehow resignation and concern—for me?—leaked out around the edges.

"Do it, " Manoso said softly.

**Ten minutes later to the second** I faced my employer across the gym mats. I had changed to sweats and a t-shirt, but he still wore his black cargoes—no shirt though and barefoot.

Manoso stood in the middle of the gym with his arms bent up behind his head as he methodically braided his almost waist length black hair. He stood feet apart, weight on his heels while he did his hair. _He looks harmless but his eyes never stop moving,_ I thought, and watched him wind a black rubber band around the end of his braid.

We had acquired a sizable audience but they observed in respectful silence. Manoso finished his hair, patted down his pockets, removing a cell phone, car keys, gun, knife, another knife. These items he tossed to the Latino man named Santos, who caught them as if they had choreographed this event. And Ranger whirled around and kicked me in the head. I went down hard and slid across the room on my ass. _What the fuck?_ I scrambled to my feet only to have them swept out from under me. Manoso softly talked trash at me the whole time, jeering at me for being caught unaware, for not watching my ass, for getting shot on the job in the army….

I got a grip on my temper and fought back.

My game wasn't off, I just never had a chance. Yeah, Ranger Manoso beat the crap out of me in front of all my new co-workers. He was amazing—in all my years of martial arts I've never seen anyone so fast or so good. I felt lucky I survived; even luckier that the man obviously was trying hard NOT to hurt me. I couldn't win, but I didn't die either. And when my excessively handsome dark-eyed boss stood over me a half hour later—not even sweating!—and toed my limp near-corpse with his bare foot, the other guys applauded. Me. They were applauding me.

Ranger hauled me to my feet and said, "You did good, Ram. Welcome aboard."

That afternoon I was in chair watching a little GPS blip move around on the screen. Tank told me, "Don't lose sight of that dot, the lady is very important to Ranger. To all of us." So when the blip suddenly disappeared I froze in horror. Then I went to tell Ranger. His face stayed blank but his eyes turned black and I swear his dark Latino complexion turned pale. Before he could react or speak though, his cell phone rang. He said, "Babe." And he smiled.

Two brushes with death on my first day! Amazing. I excused myself and walked away, realizing I was happy again. I had a place here, I had a future.

**Back in the present, I saw Ranger** come in from the stairwell. His clothes were perfectly neat and his hair, currently cut quite short, was also neat. Ranger was never rumpled or disheveled or crazy, he is always the boss, always in control. I admire Ranger immensely—he is always just so freakin' cool. And I was happy for him, glad that he was smiling the same way he smiled all those years ago.

**the end, series tbc**

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><p><strong>Thank you for taking the time to review!<strong>

**sunny**


	6. Chapter 6 Hal

_**a/n There's a new story on my blog, Part One: Snow Day**_

_**(Ranger, Anthony, and Morelli on the Job)...come read it! Link is in my profile.**_

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><p><em><strong>Day One<strong>_

_**.**_

a/n Hal's story of course takes place during _**Ten Big Ones:**_

_Stephanie:"You're gonna stun gun the woman who's been living with Ranger?"_

_Hal: "Don't give me a hard time. I like this job and I'll lose it if I screw up with you." 10 Big Ones PB, pg 304_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Six ~ Hal's First Day <strong>_

_Hal_

_**I've landed in a soap opera.**_ _We're going whacko here over the boss-man's...girlfriend? Not-girlfriend?_

It was my first full day on the job at Rangeman, morning meeting, 0900. The large black man called Tank was running the show; the big boss, Ranger, stood behind him in the conference room doorway, his expression set to neutral, his body language radiating deadly tension.

He was pretty scary, his dark eyes cut like a scalpel, gave me the shivers.

Even second-in-command Tank seemed uneasy, glanced behind himself a few times, checking out the thundercloud looming behind him. I was a little worried. _If Tank is afraid of this guy...?_

Manoso was maybe a few years older than me. And if his rumored Special Forces credentials were legit, he was light-years ahead of me in badass experience. Oh sure, I know the streets, a little—and as a small town cop from Pennsylvania, I had good training but, well, I am not what you'd call a lethal weapon. You know, more traffic stops than murders?

... ... ...

**Last month's interview** at Rangeman had been a little strange. A man who introduced himself as Vince, no last name, took my particulars and then led me to an austere office on a silent floor in the building that housed Rangeman Security.

I was interrogated in depth about my previous work experience. Tank did the interview. He seemed convinced my police background was some sort of cover: "Small town cop?"

"Yessir. New Goshen PD. Four years on the job."

His dark eyes bored into mine. "You're among friends here, man. Level with us. Why don't you tell me where you received your training? Afghanistan, Chechnya? No, you strike me more as the soldier of fortune type. Who are you?"

I told him again. ''I'm Hal—oh okay, Harold—Meyers, from Lancaster PA. Really. I just moved to Trenton because my wife is pregnant, insists on living closer to her mom. In what they call The Burg.''

""The Burg? Oh, man..."

''What? Sir."

''Nevermind, go on."

I told him, "I resigned from the New Goshen police force, was planning to apply to TPD here in Trenton. But an old, uh, college friend hooked me up here instead."

"Yes. You mentioned Mitch. Went to Syracuse together, right?"

"Well he went there with my older brother..."

Tank stared at me. Finally he asked, ''So is this how you normally look?"

I am a big guy, I admit it. Six-four, two fifty, all muscles. And yeah, I know I have a farm boy face, blue eyes, buzzed white blond hair. Unfortunately pink cheeks, blond goatee to look older. I look big, dumb and clumsy. I delude myself that I am not.

Now I shrugged."More or less."

Tank made a note. "Skin head, neo-Nazi? Yeah, okay. It's a good look. Useful."

WTF? I looked more choirboy than skinhead/ neo-Nazi but I tried to look tough, assume the role. _Go for it, boy,_ I urged myself.

I glowered.

After a few beats Tank looked down at my application again. "College grad. Cop training, no Spec ops or military though. Maybe. We'll be in touch."

**A week later I was offered a job.** Rangeman Security may lack the prestige of being a police officer but for an expectant father, the pros definitely outweighed the cons. Long hours, but great pay and even better benefits. I'd be able to pay the hospital bills _and_ buy diapers, yay! I signed on and here I am...looking for some woman the boss has the hots for? Geez. Even running a speed trap back in New Goshen might be better.

Tank was still talking, his tone hinting at stress and urgency; the guy called Vince flashed a picture on the white wall. Ugly acne scarred African American male, maybe in his mid-thirties? Jaundiced eyes, bad teeth. "This is Junkman. Just to remind you all, and for the new guy—Junkman is an LA OG, original gangsta, made man, maybe five or six reputed kills on his slate. Brought into Jersey do some hits and unify the Slayers gang, consolidate their new affiliation with the nationally based Cripps gang. He was released from prison in Cali, no clue why. Bribes maybe or California stupidity, who knows..." Tank droned on, "Update is: The Slayers have a hit out on Ms Plum, as you know. Junkman is actively searching for her and has sworn to..." -another nervous glance at Manoso—"uh, _make her pay_. Make an example of 'da white bitch what disrespected his home boys...' That is a quote, gentleman. And Junkman has three arrests for attempted rape. No convictions, lack of evidence. Women were probably too scared to testify. That's our man. And he wants Bombshell I mean Ms Plum to suffer—and die. Hard."

A picture of a very pretty woman with dark curly hair and a gorgeous smile flashed up, replacing Junkman's ugly mug. "Ms Plum, fortunately, is now secured within this building. Ranger has ordered her not to leave the premises until the Slayers are neutralized. Ranger has ordered you ALL to stop her from leaving, by any means necessary..."

I raised a hand.

"Yes, Hal?"

''Why would she want to leave? We can assure her safety here, so...?"

"Ms Plum, is, uh,..." said Tank carefully.

"Independent," said Ranger.

Tank: "Right, right. Independent. So she might decide to leave. And you must make sure that does not happen. You have standing orders to tell her you will use any and all force, including a Taser, to stop her."

"We can stun gun her?" asked another man. Nervous glances at Ranger from the group.

He ground out coldly, "No. You may NOT stun her. You will just tell her that. No one is to touch her. In any way. Use your intimidation skills, she's a frightened young female. You will convince her that she will be stunned. Do I make myself clear?"

Men nodded, mumbled _Yessir._

"Get to work."

... ... ...

_**a day or two earlier...**_

_Ranger_

**I was taking a few days,** a long weekend, and I was down in Georgia when I got the call from Tank. Stephanie had somehow pissed off some local gangbanger punk assholes called the Slayers. She was in hiding, guess where? I already knew she had been in my apartment, Ella had called me last night for orders too. I told Ella to remove any personal items from the apartment (who knew she'd think that meant my underwear, geez...) and to let Stephanie stay, ostensibly unnoticed.

Fine, no problem, right? I figured she'd had another fight with Morelli, was looking for a bolt hole. Needed some peace and quiet after a run-in with the cop's famously vicious Italian temper. Bad enough but now this?

Gangbangers? Only Stephanie Plum...

I whispered _Shit!_ and hung up with Tank.

''What?'' asked my stealth brother Anthony.

''I have to go.''

''But sir...'' said one of the middle management suits across the conference table.

We were at an aeronautics research facility outside Marietta. Anthony had dragged me here to see their new experimental flying car—yes, a _car_ that futuristically could, perhaps, also fly. Someday. If it could get up the needed speed and lift, and had someplace to do so.

Anthony wanted to invest. Shit, Anthony wanted one of these silly things. Now.

The vehicle supposedly gets 35 miles per gallon highway, twenty five in the air. I figured the runway fees (not inconsequential), paid to the airports where it lands and takes off would seriously offset the great gas mileage. But no one else seemed concerned

Anthony possibly has enough engineering info packed into his computer-like brain to add something useful to the discussion currently underway here in Georgia. Right now he was addressing the landing fees issue, explaining that a fixed rotor version, (i.e. helicopter version) would be more versatile, but I was just along for the ride, so to speak.

Now the call from Tank had interrupted things and everyone was looking at me.

I said, "I have a situation."

_What? _asked Anthony in my head.

_Steph. She's in danger, pissed off some wannabee gangbanger..._

_I told you that woman is trouble._

_Fuck off. You don't know her. You've never met her._

I stood up and walked out, Anthony followed right behind. In the corridor, he caught my arm and stopped me, said, "You can't just go running like a trained poodle every time this woman has a hangnail, bro. You're wasting your time. Isn't she living with the cop?"

I cursed myself for confiding in my brother and pulled my arm free. "She needs me."

sigh. "I can fly you back...?" Anthony finally offered.

''No I drove down, I'll drive back. Just as fast."

It wasn't.

Unfortunately the weather sucked. Nine miserable torrential rain hours later I got home and found Goldilocks asleep in my bed. She looked exhausted, clutching my pillow and wearing one of my black t-shirts. She wore mismatched socks—mine—one grey, one black. And there was an incongruous pile of brown Hershey Bar wrappers on the floor by the bed. I thought how sad that was—my clothes—and cheap chocolate—were more comfort to Steph than her lover. She found more reassurance in my casual belongings than with her longtime boyfriend, Joe Morelli. Why was she here? In fact, why did he never _ever _protect her? Why did she love a guy who cared nothing about her safety or happiness? It was a mystery I thought I'd never solve. I sighed sadly. Imperceptibly, I hoped, but heartfelt.

I was tired. In many, many ways.

Stephanie somehow finally sensed my silent scrutiny. Big blue eyes fluttered, opened, locked on my face. She clutched the sheets to her throat and blushed. Cute.

My low-simmering frustration got the better of me. I said, "I'm trying to decide if I should throw you out the window or or if I should get in next to you."*

Her eyes got bigger.

...

_**next day, still Hal's first day...**_

_Hal_

I woke up on a cold hard floor, men in black staring down at me.

My head swam, my muscles twitched, and I thought I was gonna puke. "Wha...? What happened?"

I glanced around. I was in a stairwell. Oh yeah, my new job. _Rangeman. Ranger...Ms Plum. Ms Plum! Holy shit! Ms Plum?_

Someone nudged me with a black boot. "You fucking idiot!" growled the large man. I recalled his name was Tank. "You fucking let Ms Plum stun you with your own stun gun."

"I, uh...?"

"You cretin! It's not easy to do what you did. You made my men, some of the most highly trained professionals in the world, look like a bunch of minimum-wage mall cops. In my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. These idiots sat there and watched it happen, on the monitors! You're all a bunch of incompetents! You let her escape!" roared Tank.

Everyone except me took a step back. I struggled to sit up, wondered if I'd pissed myself. Oh damn! I squirmed and prayed my black uniform pants hid the stain.

Oh god. I mumbled warily, "I...? Am I fired?"

Someone said, "Fired? No, man, Ranger is gonna fuckin' kill you."

I sat up straighter, tried to get to my feet, but wobbled. Tank grabbed my shirt and hauled me up, set me on my feet, waited to see if I collapsed again. I wavered but stayed upright. I said, "What can I do? How can I help? Is Ms Plum okay?"

Tank looked me over, handed me my stun gun. "Lucky for you, right now we need everyone out on the street looking for Ms Plum and Junkman. Get your ass together—get some dry pants, man—and get out there. Work with Junior."

''Aw man." I assume it was Junior who whined.

"Shut up. Move out. Everyone. NOW!"

A few hours later we all stood in the aftermath of the mass shooting by the school bus driver in the red dress. Ms Plum was safely wrapped in the boss's arms with all of us, the Rangeman crew, hovering in a semicircle around them. She looked a little bruised but unbeaten. And thankfully was still fully clothed. The cop approached and Ranger stiffened noticeably.

Ms Plum smiled at everyone and said, ''My heroes. Upstaged by a guy in a red dress and heels."* And she began to sob. My heart broke, despite my resentment—she had stunned me after all, probably I'd be fired. Or—eliminated?

Ranger must have felt my worried stare because he raised his eyes and stared at me in return.

"I'll deal with you tomorrow," he said softly.

Well, okay. A least now I know there will BE a tomorrow. And that's another day.

_**the end, series tbc**_

*from Ten Big Ones


	7. Chapter 7 Lester

**Day One**

.

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><p>an: so...Lester won the poll by by a landslide! Who knew so many readers love this guy who has, what? two sentences in a single book and is never mentioned again? Amazing the power of fan fics.

BTW if you voted for Manny, fear not, his story is written and will appear soon, proably next week.

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven ~ Lester Santos's First Day on the Job <strong>

_This is excerpted from a real newspaper article, published in the UK :_

**'Penis' Confiscated by Police**

Jason Hadlow is upfront about his predicament. "They're holding my penis hostage,"the U.K. shopkeeper complains to QMI Agency, after local police hauled away a 1.2 metre,hand-carved stone phallus he had displayed in his front window.

The sandstone male-modelled thingy was sitting among a tranquil display of garden fixtures, when police in the community near the English town of Bedale, in North Yorkshire, swooped in. They grabbed the not-so-private part and fined Hadlow for "displaying an item liable to cause harassment, alarm and distress."

"To one side was a statue of Venus with her boobies right there, and nearby was Hercules…and (he was) pretty much hanging out in the open," recalls Hadlow of the recent raid. "But they couldn't help themselves, and just went straight for my willy."

Unless the shop owner pays a fine he's not getting the Indonesian good luck symbol back. To help free the impounded organ, Hadlow has set up a Facebook campaign dubbed "Free Willy."

[Hadlow said,] "It's going to be sadly missed — both staff and customers loved it."

_or maybe it happened in Trenton NJ...?_

_... ... ... ... ..._

_Lester_

**Stephanie slid further down into the black leather seats** of our Rangeman Explorer. Her face was deep pink heading to beet red and she was alternating biting her thumbnail and her lower lip.

Despite wanting to laugh, I felt myself stirring. What? Stephanie Plum: all hot and bothered, the lip biting thing...I'm a tough guy but I'm not-_brain-dead_. I mean, hormonally dead. I mean...oh shit, you know what I meant. I didn't mean my brain was located in my dick. Although...

Speaking of dicks—

...

_Ranger_

**Earlier this morning** I looked across the breakfast table at sleepy, morning sex tousled Stephanie and asked her what she had on deck for the day.

Steph poked a finger at the stack of FTA files next to her plate and said, "I'm gonna stake out this guy's shop. Should be an easy pickup. He's not violent or anything, just stupid."

"Do you need back-up?" Lula and Tank were out of town for a few days. Their romance had heated up considerably after Lula found a good allergy doc. Armed with high dose Claritin, Tank's feline menagerie didn't bother Lula and Tank had regained his appeal in her eyes.

Whatever. The point is, I was short of my own backup man and so was Steph. But I had meetings all morning, so..."What's the exact charge?" I asked.

"Ah. Um." First pink blush creeping up her throat. Interesting. Won't meet my eyes. "Hadlow, Jason; Caucasian, age 39. No priors...Picked up for LLB," read Steph from the file.

"LLB?"

"Lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency."

"He's a flasher?"

"No, um...no. And he had a fine to pay but he refused, jumped bail. Word is he's back at his _art and decor for the garden_ shop almost every day. So, I'll just do some stakeout thing, see if he turns up."

So far I wasn't at all sure what the guy did, just that Stephanie was too embarrassed to tell me in exact words. You'd think after the night we just had—and this morning...plus our shower just now—well. But you never know. And backup is essential, I don't care how routine a pickup seems, shit can happen. I said, "I have meetings, babe. Take Lester, okay."

"Nooooo!" Her face got pinker.

"You and Les have a problem?" I asked.

"Nooooo! But..."

"I'll tell Les to meet you in the garage, in say..." I glanced at her hair. "An hour? Two?"

"I'll get him on his cell when I'm ready."

"Do not leave without him."

She gave me a universal finger gesture, I'll think of it as a cute little finger wave, right?

... ... ...

_Lester_

**And so here we are...**

**The newly trendy downtown** area of Trenton (is that an oxymoron, or what?) was quiet at oh nine hundred when we parked at the curb. Steph ate her third donut and we both sipped coffee.

''So. Lester.''

_Uh oh... _

''Yeah, Steph?''

"Hector was telling me the other day about his first day on the job at Rangeman..."

I glanced at her, careful to hide my amazement.

''And?''

''Well, I guess maybe it got lost in the uh, translation?'' She frowned a little. Stephanie Plum looks adorable even when she frowns. Or pouts. Maybe especially when she pouts. Man, those lips... I made a show of adjusting something in my cargo pockets.

I suavely said, "Oh."

"So what about you? What was your first day at Rangeman like?"

We sat in silence while I thought about her question.

Finally: ''Well, Lester? C'mon. Entertain me, I'm dying of boredom here!"

Surely she realized I'd known the boss, the man currently known as Ranger, since birth. My birth that is. Ranger is two years older than me. Ranger probably snuck into my nursery and slipped a toy gun into my crib... I can't remember meeting Ranger, but maybe that counts as my first day?

_That isn't what she was asking though, was it?_

''WELL!'' Jersey girl shriek. I hid my cringe.

"I'd tell you, beautiful...but then I'd have to kill you." _Or Ranger would kill me._

''Idiot. You're a riot, Les.'' Steph folded her arms over her breasts, I mean chest and pouted some more. Cute.

I shrugged, we sat.

**All still quiet at ten and ten-thirty** but around eleven hundred, just when Steph was majorly squirming her way to begging for a bathroom break, a commotion broke out. We heard it first: **FREE WILLY! FREE WILLY!**, then a ragtag band of sixties-era-ish protesters marched into view. Maybe a dozen citizens exercising their right to protest. **Free Willy, Free Willy!**

I said, "You see Hadlow?"

"No."

I wondered why these people were protesting the fate of what I assumed was a whale—that's what Willy is, right? I asked Steph, "Is this about that whale in Florida, the one who killed his trainer? I don't think its name was Willy though."

Steph turned her pink cheeked face to me and said, "No, Les. Geez. Look at the signs!"

"I did, they say Free Willy."

"No, the _shape_ of the posters, the shape of the signs. Look at all familiar?"

"Oh."

The group was carrying signs shaped like big, colorful penises. The artwork wasn't great, that's why I missed it at first. But, yeah—dick signs. Huh.

On closer inspection I could see that the protestors wore t-shirts emblazoned with the phrase Free Willy and a silk screened photo, clearer than the signs, definitely a big, upright dick.

Steph said, "Yes, oh. Jason Hadlow was arrested for having a 5 foot penis in his store window! A—_willy_, Lester! A dick! The guy has a 5 foot dick!"

"Really."

"Hadlow is British, they call them their willies."

"Hmmmm. Five feet?"

She said, "It was a garden statue! Not _his..._willy.''

"Okay..."

"He refused to pay because he said that other statue, see there—the naked guy with the world on his shoulders?"

"Un huh. Atlas," I said.

"The file said Hercules...?"

"I don't think..."

"What-ever!" she interrupted. "So, _his _dick is right there too. But the police weren't bothered by his dick," snorted Steph. "Because it was a _little_ dick...it was, um, tasteful."

"Tasteful."

She giggled. "So Jason refused to pay, he said it was hypocritical to arrest him because he had a giant penis. In the window I mean."

"But Atlas's little dick is okay?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Well you know what they say, beautiful."

"What?"

"Size matters."

"You should know...There's my skip! C'mon!"

_**the end**_


	8. Chapter 8 Manny

****Hi! Snow Day Part 3 is up now on my website. The link is in my profile.****

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><p><strong><strong>***a little memo from Lester: <strong>**"It wasn't my fault! Ranger told me _everything_ about the beginning days of Rangeman is/was/will always be classified, Top Secret/ Need to Know. BUT he has relented, yes, okay, I whined! I don't like disppointing all the beautiful ladies who love ME! Me****—****The Incomparable, two-liner, exotic, amorous, mysterious Lester Santos. So...[shhh!]...**next week** I'll tell you ALL. Well, maybe not...all. But, well, you'll see!

love

Lester Santos, AKA the real Cuban Sex God."

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><p><strong><strong>Day One<strong>**

****.****

**a/n** my Manny will **never** call Stephanie 'wifey' or any other fanfiction pet name, cute, stupid or otherwise. He's not stupid****—****he _knows_ how to survive at Rangeman.

This takes just before Twelve Sharp.

.

**100 Words / Manny's Story**

**Orientation day at Rangeman. We had the tour**, we got our guns and uniforms. We'd been tested on our computer proficiency and on our hand to hand combat skills. Now Lester Santos was giving the current briefing. He stood hands on hips at the front of the room and told us:

''100 words! Max! As in 'maximum'! If you can't write a report using 100 words or less, I am sure we can find you a new career as a blogger or fanfiction writer! However at Rangeman we strive for concise-ity! The boss..._What!_''

''Excuse me, sir, the word is _conciseness_. Or _concision_. Or you could say _Strive to be concise_."

"And you're who, again? Miss Manners? The Grammar Gestapo?"

I sort of drew back in my nice comfy leather chair (man, Rangeman has a lot of perks! You should see the cars.) and said, "My name is Manuel Ramos, sir."

"Fine. Shut up. The point, gentlemen, is that the boss does not want you to waste your time and his money writing long reports, because guaranteed he won't waste _his_ time reading them. Any questions?''

''Do we print them out, sir?'' I asked.

''Of course you don't print them out, Ramos. If you did, at the end of the day, we'd just have a big stupid box of encrypted top secret junk to dispose of."

''In the army we printed everything out in triplicate,'' I said dubiously. ''Computers crash...?"

"In case you haven't noticed this is NOT the army, Ramos. And FYI this is a paperless business. We may be badasses but we are earth friendly, eco-conscientious badasses."

"I don't eco-conscientious is a word either, sir!''

''You want a foot in your face, Ramos?''

''No sir.''

"Santos, I can hear you yelling all the way down the hall, what the fuck is your problem?" The big boss, the very top-secret yet very famous****—****notorious?****—****Ranger Manoso had appeared in the conference room doorway. Unlike Santos, his voice was calm and quiet.

We all stood up.

"Be seated, guys," said Santos. We waited for the boss-man's tiny nod. He walked in, stood next to Lester Santos, paused and looked us over. There were four of us newbies today. Myself, Manuel****—****Manny****—****Ramos, former military police CID* agent, and three other men who'd given names but no info.

*(criminal investigations division/ department/ detachment?]

We, in turn, inspected our new employer with wary interest.

Manoso was young, good-looking, and wearing a very expensive black suit. The suit did nothing to hide the danger signals he emitted; the fine, no doubt custom, tailoring barely hid his muscles and did not really disguise his guns at all. Yes indeed, this was the oh so famous, _shhhh_, black ops covert operator of legend. I have to admit it****—****I was impressed, maybe even intimidated. (Even though he looked ridiculously young, and much too pretty for the job and the rep.)

His intense dark eyes tracked to me and I prayed he did not really have ESP as was rumored. I strove for blankness and studied the two Rangeman executives, side by side.

Interestingly, I could see a strong resemblance between Santos and Ranger, though Santos was not as drop dead movie star hot as the other man****—****well, who could be? But they had similar facial features, same build, stance, and coloring, except Manoso had very long hair and that I Am In Charge thing that military officers never lose. Oh Santos had the OIC****—****officer-in-charge****—****attitude too, but I could now see he deferred to Manoso 100%.

"These are the new hires, boss,'' Santos now told Ranger. "We're down to the detail shit, these guys seem not to understand how to write a brief post-action memo..."

''And?''

Sigh. "I'll dial it down, boss.''

Ranger looked us new guys over. I recalled meeting him briefly during my second interview, though he'd remained silent and had not participated in the session.

Now he said, ''New hires. Remind me.'' He took a seat at the head of the conference table, Santos sat down to his right. Santos told him, "Jackson, Mike****—****former SEAL. Poltanski, Allen****—****CPA, with martial arts training. Raphael Santana...uh..operator."

''Yo.''

Ranger and Santana nodded. Seemed to know each other.

''And this is my new friend the English teacher, Manuel Ramos.''

''Ramos. Refresh my memory, what did you do before this?''

''I was a cop, basically. Army MPs, CID.''

''A detective?''

''I guess you could say that. Sir.''

I watched his face. MPs aren't always popular with enlisted men, though of course Manoso was an officer, no doubt would have outranked me if we were still in the military.

"You realize this job will require mostly..." He glanced at the CPA guy, "...street work? At least at first?''

I said, ''Yessir. I'm a ranked marksman and have a brown belt in _qan tchao_. I did investigations but my experience definitely includes apprehending assholes, as needed." I forced myself not to look at Lester Santos. _Hey if the shoe fits..._

Manoso looked like he was thinking about smiling. ''Mr. Santos here has his quirks, gentlemen, but when I'm not here he's often in charge. Get used to him."

Santos smiled wide, geez, he too looks like a boy model when he smiles.

"And I'm often _not_ here. Any questions?"

I said, ''Sir, what do you consider the most important aspect of the job here? And is there any special tool or weapon you consider essential?

Ranger made eye contact with each of us, one by one. _This was important_, I thought.

He told us, ''My advice: if you are assigned to Ms Plum's security detail...don't fuck up. And try hard not to get shot."

We nodded solemnly, even though we had no idea at that point who, or what, Ms Plum was.

"And always keep a pair of latex gloves in your cargo pockets. Ms Plum has an affinity for garbage..."

He stood up. ''Let's do this, gentlemen.''

Garbage? Shot? Who knew...

the end


	9. Chapter 9 Oh Okay, Lester again

**Snow Day Four, The End **is up on my blog..read it! Enjoy! Link in my profile...

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><p><strong>Day One<strong>

**.**

**a/n **Because all the Lester-loving ladies weren't happy with Lester's Day One on The Job/"I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you..." here is Part Two of Lester Story. enjoy. [see, I listen. a little]

Lester's Theme song inspired by the song used in Cristibabe's romantic fic, thx for letting Lester steal it!

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><p><strong>Lester Again - Actual First Day <strong>

**.**

_Ranger_

**Tank and I have been working the streets** of Trenton now for a couple of weeks. All is going according to plan. Two more members of me team, my new Rangeman team, are due this week. Tank and I can use the help. The paperwork is already reaching epic proportions here on my new desk. I kill people. I don't do paperwork.

Today I am expecting the arrival of Lester Santos. I glance at my watch. He is, of course, late. I can't believe I've agreed to incorporate Santos into this long term job. The man is a menace—mostly to good looking women. And he's a practical joker/ smartass with slacker tendencies that sometimes I have to beat out of him.

Like my brother Antonio, Lester trained as a sniper in the military. And he's a very good sniper, that goes without saying, right? Behind the boy model face and shit-eating grin is a lethal weapon that few can equal or survive.

It was fine in the Sand Pit or in the 'stans, he did what he was told to do and took whatever shit went down. Unfortunately Lester Santos is my cousin and a mama's boy extraordinaire. If anything happens to little Lester here in Jersey, my _Tia_ Angelina will fucking kill us both.

My reverie is rudely halted by the door slamming open.

"Yo, boss.''

I hide my sigh. "Yo."

... ... ...

_Lester_

**Okay, man, first day** of the rest of my life, well, maybe...

I have a seat opposite my cousin who we all call Ranger now, and I ask him, "Wassup, g'?''

Ranger-frown. You know, itty bitty but scary.

He says, "You went to the same language cram course as Tank?"

I raise my eyebrow. Hey, I'm trying. Like everyone else in my family I went to college, one with proverbial ivy on the walls. My frat-boy street speak was all I had to offer.

"Nevermind. Let's get started," he says.

I force myself not to say _Sir, yessir _and just nod.

"There's just a few rules here, Santos: No gossiping..."

I mime zipping and locking my lips, cross my heart. Ranger looks long-suffering.

"No women on this premises. Ever."

I look around the sparsely immaculate office space and shrug. "_No problemo_."

"And you don't kill anyone unless I tell you to."

Now I'm offended. "I know that!" Geez.

His phone buzzes. _''Mumble, mumble_, be there in ten,'' then he looks at me and says, "I have a line on a skip."

"Skip?"

''An FTA, failure to appear? We're bounty hunters now, remember?''

"Yessir, boss." I salute and follow Ranger into the elevator. As we descend I start to sing, _''B-b-b-bad, bad to the bone...B-b-bad, b-bad..." _

''...broke a thousand hearts

Before I met you

I'll break a thousand more, baby

Before I am through

I wanna be yours pretty baby

Yours and yours alone

I'm here to tell ya honey

That I'm bad to the bone

Bad to the bone

B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-Bad

B-B-B-Bad

Bad to the bone

I make a rich woman beg

I'll make a good woman steal

I'll make an old woman blush

And make a Mississippi girl squeal

I wanna be yours pretty baby

Yours and yours alone

I'm here to tell ya honey

That I'm bad to the bone

B-B-B-B-Bad

B-B-B-B-Bad

B-B-B-B-Bad

Bad to the bone''

I smack out a little hip-hop rhythm on the elevator wall, shake my ass a little.

This elicits the Ranger glare, but I just grin. Only two things I'm scared of in this life (and Ranger isn't one of them): an unexpected visit from my mother and too much work.

**In the fenced, locked parking lot Ranger** walks over to a Ford Bronco. Next to it is a new black Mercedes SL550, the high performance two seater job; a black BMW 800 series sedan, the limited production model; and a chopped black Honda low-rider pickup. All the cars have black tinted windows. Ranger tells me, ''The Bronco is mine, the low-rider is yours. "

''But, man..."

"It's for your street image. Drive it like you stole it." He hands me the keys.

I gesture to the two beautiful examples of German engineering perfection and ask, "What about them?"

"Don't even think about it, _primo_."

Oh yeah, cousin Ranger don't much like to share.

We get in the Bronco and Ranger adds, "Each of the vehicles will of course be fitted with a tracker, we can utilize government GPS locators. That way no one gets lost in the shuffle."

"I'm cool, dawg."

''We're heading for Stark Street now, Les. This is the ghetto, the mean streets. It's not Far Hills."

''I know that! Shit, you're acting like I never was in, you know...or , or, uh, deployed on the job. I can do this.'' I'm a Special Forces covert operator, have been for years. These crappy small town, city? streets don't impress me. "I did Bagdad, dude. And Kandahar. I can do Trenton."

Neutral nod from the boss. "Fine. Let's move. The world isn't saving itself. And we're behind schedule already."

_Only Ranger would have a Save the World agenda. The guy likes running the show. And fixing things..._

"I wouldn't worry, boss.''

''I'm not worried, Lester.''

I look in the side view mirror. ''Okay then I guess you don't mind the local cops are behind us? Red white and blues flashin' like a mo'fucker, too."

''Assholes. I gotta get the general to...,'' mumbles Ranger. "Shove the sawed-off under the seat, man."

Ranger pulls over and a dark-haired scruffy guy in plain clothes, gold shield on his belt, leans in the window. ''Manoso.''

''Morelli.''

''You in a hurry to hit Stark Street this fine morning, Manoso?"

"I'm fairly certain I wasn't speeding, detective. And you're not a traffic cop."

''No, well. So—'' He leans in further. "Who's your date?"

I paste on my best big grin and stretch my hand past Ranger's nose, "Lester Santos, officer. Great t'meet ya, I just love Trenton, I hear the ladies are Very Tasty! Yum." I let a little of my native New Jesrsey accent creep into my voice.

We shake hands. The cop's eyes track from me to Ranger and back. Ranger is wearing black sunglasses but we do look a lot alike. Before the cop can say anything Ranger tells him, ''I have a line on a skip, Morelli. Gotta go."

''Fine. But this is a warning. Stay out of my way, especially on Stark Street."

He steps back and Ranger guns the Bronco, shoots gravel from the oversized tires.

After a couple blocks he glances at me.

?

I smile. ''Urban legend, some asshole cop wrote about a sweet young thing on the bathroom wall of the pizza parlor.''

''Shorty's?''

''No, some place called Pino's. Anyways, it said something about how Jersey girls are sweet to eat...?"

Silence while we considered that.

Finally Ranger says, "You've done it again, man. I'm speechless."

I grin. "Good to know I haven't lost my touch.

**the end**

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><p><em>Bad to the Bone<em> by George Thorogood. You can Google it on You Tube.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reviewing! And I hope you guys liked this Lester's Day On<strong>**e...better?**

**sunny**


	10. Chapter 10 Morelli

**Day One**

**.**

**.**

a/n: obviously AU to my world, JE's world, everyone's world, but...how could I resist. Mercenary Ranger but Joe is not the same Joe who in my fics is married to Elisa the kindergarten teacher, is JJ's dad, etc.

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

**Hell Freezes Over ~ Joe's First Day**

**.**

**. —**

_Ranger_

**Morelli said, "You've offered me a job before**, Ranger. Now I need to know if the offer still stands?"

I looked at Morelli carefully. He didn't look demented but I had to restrain myself from peeking out the window to see if hell had frozen over.

As a matter of fact I personally had never tried to hire Joe. But I'd had Vince, an ex-LAPD cop, talk to him a few years ago, feel him out. Morelli had said _no fucking way_, and lectured poor Vince about my legally grey work. Yeah, right, if he only knew. Grey is the safe stuff.

But fact is, police officers add a lot to Rangeman. They have different perspectives, different training, different strengths than my usual military guys, but in its own way a police force is a paramilitary entity so the cops I've hired knew how to suck it up and say _Yessir, Ranger_ and not argue. Morelli in particular, well I wasn't so sure. He's a good cop, good detective, I could use him, maybe even train him for management. He was smart if not too educated, he'd be better at the hands-on aspects as opposed to the paperwork and money side of things. Possibly good at the covert work we did, reliable, good skills, etc; useless as an asset for my black ops work though, if for no other reason than he'd never get the security clearances needed, even if he was willing to do wet work.

Still weighing the pros and cons I said, "Three years ago you weren't interested."

"I am now."

"What changed?"

Morelli hesitated. Reluctantly he said, "Terry and I are getting married."

_Oh._

I just sat there looking at him. He asked "Would that be a problem for you or your business?"

"I'd have to think about it, Morelli, but I can definitely see that your career in TPD is over the second you marry Gilman.'' Not only is Terry Gilman from a mob family, it was widely known that she was an enforcer for her Uncle Vito Grizzoli. I added, "Are you—ah—sure you want to do that?"

Morelli said, "I love her, I'm happy with her. It took me a long time to get over Stephanie, but Terry and I go way back. I want a family, I want kids, a wife, the whole Burg thing that Steph thought was so stupid…."

_And you seriously think Terry Gilman is gonna settle down and be a housewife?_ I wondered.

Deciding that was not my business, I'd let Gilman explain the facts of life to Morelli—I tried to analyze the whole situation. Gilman is mob—not real high level mob, but it was there. Would having Morelli on my payroll add enough to counteract the possibility of my various worlds overlapping? Not that I had anything to do with my grandfather's business but I'd hate to walk into some _family_ thing someday and run into Morelli and Gilman.

I asked, "Does Steph know about this?"

"Yes. Actually it was her suggestion that I talk to you. Didn't she mention it?"

"No."

…..

_Morelli_

**Ranger stared at me** for the longest time, he had that searching your soul thing down pat. I was surprised that his hesitation was over Terry's OC—organized crime—connection not my TPD career or all those years I spent boffing his now-wife.

Ranger said, "This is my company, I run a tight ship. You question my orders even once and you're out. "

I nodded. Was I supposed to say _Yessir_?

"Tank speaks for me, his orders are my orders. Lester Santos too. And Bobby Brown when he is in country—he usually is in—ah—wherever. Otherwise all my men are treated equally, you'd have no rank or privileges here, detective."

I nodded again. And Ranger looked like he might smile.

"Now's a good time to practice saying _yessir, Ranger_. And _yes, boss_."

I tried but I couldn't say the words.

Ranger waited a second then he went on, "You'll need training in hand-to-hand, we use different tactics than a cop takedown. My business manager will discuss salary, health and dental insurance, other benefits, pension. You'll get a company SUV, uniforms, gun, phone."

"Can you give me an idea what the salary is? "

Ranger looked up something on his desktop screen then named a figure that astounded me. No wonder Ranger's crew was so loyal.

"Does this mean I have a job?"

"If your government security clearances come through okay and you are willing to fit in here—yes, you have a job, Morelli."

I stood and shook his hand. "Thank you. I won't let you down." Somehow it was easier to deal with this very corporate incarnation of the Ranger I knew as a street thug—and Steph's lover. Husband, whatever.

"We'll be in touch, Morelli."

* * *

><p><strong>Two week later, on a snowy, icy morning in January<strong>, I zipped up my black Rangeman hoodie over my new black Glock, got into my new black Explorer and reported for duty.

Tank looked up when I walked in and said, "I see Ranger was right—hell really did freeze over. Welcome to Rangeman, Morelli."

**the** **end, series tbc**

**thanks for reviewing!**


	11. Chapter 11 Dave aka Dragan

**Day One**

.

* * *

><p>an Dave's story is not exactly his first day, which was the party at the Plaza in Jane's Dilemma, I guess. "Dave" is of course Zoe's new treasure, Romanian assassin Dragan Dardasqu' in his new disguise, fitting in, lol.

Pls don't complain. If you don't want to read about Dave, zap the back button...otherwise enjoy.

More movie quotes. From The Mummy. Thanks to Harmne for the original prompts and for her total recall!

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Eleven ~ You Were Actually At...? (Dave's story)<strong>_

_._

_Dave - a Rangeman sales trainee_

**I am in the midst of my sales pitch** when my old friend and current boss Ranger Manoso gets a call and steps to the back of the room to take it. He is training me for executive sales, a challenge I am trying to enjoy as I get past my twenties and outgrow my crazed thug years. Sure, I had to cut my hair, wear a suit but you know...I am respectable now. My name is Dave and I used to be...oh.

Nevermind.

I focus on the job and tell myself, _You can do this. If you can eliminate vicious warlords and their entire entourages, you can sell some asshole a burglar alarm. Really. Just do it._

Nevertheless, Ranger's exit from the meeting makes me a bit nervous. Ranger never seems to change but sometimes I think he is bored by the day to day operation of the domestic security division of this little corporation he has birthed and nurtured. Yes, domestic security makes Rangeman a shitload of money but it lacks—challenge? Only Ranger would take a cover "front'' and turn it into an international goldmine. I don't think he can help himself.

Earlier Ranger introduced me to the wealthy diamond dealer whose home and businesses we hope to sign on as new customers. The woman had gone goo-goo eyed over the boss, possibly another drawback in his eyes, as he is not too thrilled by women with pushup water bras and overly frosted hair tied up in a chic little just-come-from-the gym ribbon, especially the ones that drool.

The client missus had eyed Ranger like he was the gold doubloons on the figurative treasure map. The husband had been pretty impressed too, somehow he'd heard of Ranger's [murky at best, in my humble opinion] military background. Seated at their dining table the man had shoved the huge (phallic?) pepper grinder aside and leaned in towards the boss. The guy mumbled like he had a bagful of marbles in his mouth but his tone was avid. He asked Ranger, "You were actually at Hamunaptra? That battle was fought on a very holy site, you know." The husband is Jewish, part Brooklyn, part Israeli, all flab and kitsch though.

I vaguely recall that Hamunaptra was a small bloody battle back in the Israel-Palestine years. I was busy with my own issues in Eastern Europe back then, so I am not so sure...but I think Ranger is too young to have...well.

... ... ...

_Ranger_

**I look at the guy and lie.** "Yeah I was there." I am hoping he was _not_, as he'd be aware that US Spec ops had forced the confrontation, only to relinquish the actual clean-up to the regular Israeli army on site.

The guy, Erwin Feingold says, "You swear?"

I sigh. "Every damn day." I add, "Excuse me, ma'am," to the wife.

She purrs, "Call me Sherry." And leans her waterbra'd breast against my arm. I think, _I wouldn't have you on a silver platter, lady._

For some unknown reason she is wearing an emerald four leaf clover or shamrock charm instead of a Star of David, perhaps? It is suspended on a thick gold chain and when she presses her enhanced boobs against my arm and the table edge, the big green pendant is sucked in and devoured by her cleavage. I bite my cheek inside. Hard. So I won't laugh—or shoot her.

But I nod politely and steer them into Dave's presentation. Instead, she asks me, not Dave, if we can somehow wire their swimming pool with a fallen-child alarm (required by law) so that she can remove the, in her words, ugly fence (also required by law) around it and re-landscape. I am thinking she should plan her landscaping with Rangeman's involvement so that we wire the final product, even as Dave explains about pool codes. She ignores him, licks her lips and says to me, "Can you swim?"

I say, "Well..."

She goes on without listening, "Of course _I _can swim if the occasion calls for it. Even though the chlorine is absolutely brutal on my hair."

The husband pats her hand and says, "Trust me, honey, sometimes it calls for it. Remember last summer when the air-conditioning was on the fritz?"

"Omigod, that was awful! Brutal! Maybe we can have the security system check our major appliances too?" Sherry and Ervin Feingold look hopefully at me.

I say, "Sure," and again nod to, uh, Dave, who looks shell-shocked. He seems to have no clue about how to link the appliances to the security system, which is no surprise because I have no idea either. I walk from the dining area to the back of the kitchen as Dave begins his PowerPoint presentation, shining photos on their white dining room wall. He begins his sales pitch and only a hint of Count Dracula mars his perfect middle-America voice. He's nervous. First time and all.

I stand back and dial my colleague-friend-brother Anthony Stewart who possibly might know about the set-up stuff. Or not.

"Hey."

"Hey. What's up?" I respond.

"Yo, man, bro, far out. I am so freakin' glad you picked up!" Anthony says.

Uh oh, Anthony in majorly stoner mode. I don't point out that I called him.

Before I can answer he says, "The map!"

"The map?" I ask.

"Oh man, we forgot the map!" he yells.

_We did?_

In the background I hear his PA Danielle say_, Relax. You need to chill, boy_...and Anthony replies, "Oh yeah, like I'm the map, right? It's all up here."

I assume he means in his head. I interject, "That's comforting."

But he says, "It like totally is, but um... Hang on a sec, man."

And I hear him and Dani discussing some deal and its locale. Dani is very bossy but believe it or not Anthony is the brains in the duo. Finally he gets rid of her and comes back, starts over, "Hey. What's up?"

I am just killing time so his craziness doesn't bother me. I say, "Nada."

He says, "Did you watch Top Shot last night?"

"...Yeah."

"That fuckin' guy, George! Can you just see...?"

"What, when he was ragging on Jamie for being in the navy?"

"Yeah. Can you believe? I am so sure the Jamester must be a SEAL or even Delta..."

"I don't know him."

"Me neither. But here he is and the poor shit can't respond to George's crap because he, like, is not supposed to tell. 'Cos we're all, like, undercover, am I right?"

I say, "Yeah...I figured."

"Then George, who is just an overly muscled ex-marine, go figure, thinks he is totally joking and says to the other old Marine guy, _Maybe Jamie is an assassin! Hahahahahaha. _And then they laugh their asses off. Little do they know!"

I say, "Can we just...?"

Silence, then, "What?"

"Can we be glad you didn't decide to be on that show, _hermano_?"

"No. I would be cool, I have a cover. I'd say I am _an entrepreneur_."

"An entrepreneur."

"Yes! Far out, right? And funny you should mention it...I got another call!"

_I'm afraid to ask._

"What?"

"Have you ever seem this show on CNBC called How I Made My Millions?'

"You wouldn't."

"They asked me!"

"What can you possibly say?

"The truth will set me free."

"No, it won't. You'd go on national TV and say you got caught hacking into department of defense sites to sell your scrambling software and the government let you go if you agreed to take black ops, wet work jobs? How's that gonna work for you?" My voice must have risen because Dave gives me a hard glance.

Anthony is saying, "You make it sound so—tawdry. I was, what—twelve?"

"It is what it is."

Anthony laughs. "I'll say, 'I earned my money the old fashioned way...I kill people.'"

"Priceless."

"Whoa. Awesome..."

"They'll kill you. And you know who I mean."

"So—I should go with Top Shot?"

I hang up and tune back into Dave's first sales job. I'll worry about the appliances and the pool shit when they've signed on the dotted line.

_**the end**_


End file.
